squirmy shudders!!!!

Oh, but the Tom Cat Operetta was in full swing.

We needed to get the Fuzzy Family cats their microchips for traveling.

We had 2 cats in one cage, one in another.

Not to mention, we brought along 2 dogs for the trip, if you can call a Chihuahua a dog.

And by 2 dogs I don't mean we had the ashes of our dead dog.  We have a visitor to Our Closet.

Remember The Galloping Gazelle?  He's back!

Actually, lives in our building.

Actually, his mom is our landlord, who lives in the building.

She's away and The Galloping Gazelle is staying with us.

The cats are NOT impressed.  At all.  Psycho Kitty is losing more hair.

Anyway, we had to get their microchips.

The needle man!  I've never seen anything thicker in my life.

I was wondering how Dr. Bob was going to put that chip in there.  I thought at least they'd have a numbing agent before he went to town.

I asked if it was going to hurt, not knowing how it was done.  He just laughed at me.  I wish I didn't go in there.

The entry point of this long needle was extremely visible.

You know how the needles we get, you'll have to squint to see the entry point?

Oh, not this one.  Big.  Not to mention, the gizmo to push it into their skin.

Poor Psycho Kitty.

He has thick skin and Dr. Bob couldn't get it in there!

He had to push a few times to get it to go in.  I asked him if the needle was sharp enough!!  Maybe it was flawed!!  Good g*d man!!!

Of course, he just rolled his eyes at me, because I was being 'dramatic'.

I was almost sick to my stomach.

In the other two, the needle just went in like a knife through butter that's been left on the counter for the day.

They were brave.  That was of course, until they had to go back into the cage.

I would hate to share a kennel with The Bastard Prince.  He gets scared and craps himself.  Then The Mrs. has to hang out with that stench until we get home.

Imagine how much fun she'll have being stuck in there for a plane ride?

Overall, I do have to say the cats did very well.  I'd be squirming all over the place with that thing stuck in my shoulder blades.

The singing in the car though?  That was something.

So there they are, all 3 of the cats are squealing and along comes a siren.

Now we've got 2 small dogs howling and 3 cats squawking.

Well, the Fuzzy Family is being tracked by big brother.  Except our visitor, The Galloping Gazelle.  We didn't get him a chip.  I'm sure mom will be happy about that.

Hey!  How about you bring your pets to Andréa and Papi's house!  The visit comes with a free microchip and trauma to go along with it!

But seriously.  The amount of paperwork they need to go visit another country is crazy!

There are a gazillion strays there and they want to know every single thing about our animals.

I'm surprised they didn't ask for a stool sample or a DNA swab.

Do they have that for animals?  DNA swabs?

Anyway, I'm still shuddering from the experience.

i am pleased with how i handle my emotions

Our welcome from the li'l putos.

I couldn't write for a few days, because I was sleeping.

Yup.

For a few days.

Not sure what's got me, but I never sleep on planes.

I slept on all three of them.

And in between them.

Then I came home to sleep some more.

I went to sleep at 8pm thinking, "Damn it's good to be home to my Fuzzy Family."

Until I woke up to Psycho Kitty leaving a gift of piss on the bed.

I actually woke up to it in the middle of the night, but was too busy sleeping to deal with it.

When I finally got my ass up, the only thing I wanted to do was spend a little more time with our toilet.

I gave the one in our hotel wayyyy too much attention.

I've gotta share the love.

While I was trapped on the throne, violently emptying my body of any nutrition I managed to eat while awake for short periods (ie: airport chips, Luna bars and pop), the cats decided to give me a welcome back scrap.

Nothing like being stuck on the shitter and not being able to do anything about the Tom Cat Operetta.

After meekly saying, "Papi?  You wouldn't happen to be up would you?" and not getting a reply, I decided to laugh, wait out my stomach being my worst enemy, then go make myself some coffee.

I just got my wits about me when The Bastard Prince also had to give me more welcome back love.

All over my computer desk.

Great gobs of vomit.  Good fucking morning.  Welcome back.  Fucking hell.

While cleaning it up, I never realized it was all over my sleeves as well.

That was of course until after I made myself some toast.

Nice.

I don't know how much got in my peanut butter, because of course, it was the same colour.

I missed these little jerks for what seemed like an eternity, and I suppose they missed us too, and are showing their gratitude for us being home.

In the only way they know how.

The Golden was feeling nasty as well.  He had the trots too.  It's splendid to try to pick that stuff up when it won't stay firm.

What I can say is, I'm grateful for what a great job My Boifriend did of taking care of our li'l putos.

And he didn't relapse while we were gone!

And he didn't steal from us!

And he fed the animals with their respective foods in their dishes instead of tossing their food all over the ground allowing them to fend for themselves!

We did come home to the cats being a little more hefty than they were before, but now that I'm back, they'll be on the 'No Fat Cats' diet.

Sorry mongrels.

The Temptation Treat Days are over.

We don't need diabetic cats.  We have enough to do.

Anyway, we are so happy that we finally made a good choice in our Fuzzy Family keeper.

We sent him home with Dominican coffee and hugs.

Thank you my dear, so so much.

I'm glad you only had to clean shit off the walls once.

i am a kind, caring and decent person

got'cha papi.

Of course, we all know Papi likes to torture me, hence he has been dubbed the Tranny Terrorist.

His most recent femme fright was not really meant to make me crazy, but it does.

His relapse of alcohol began on a trip alone to see his sister get married in Mexico.

Leave the bugger alone for 10 minutes and he's into trouble!

Well, for this trip, he continuously mentions that he's uncomfortable with going to an all inclusive where there is drinking going on from the moment people hit the beach!

He talks about it, because he needs to.

I just keep asking him when he's going to tell his sponsor.

He doesn't have one.

So, yesterday, nonchalantly mentioned that I was going to take one of my pain killer infused muffins along for the trip.

"Nobody would know.  They would just see them as muffins and banana bread!"

Oh, the tizzy I got my tranny into.

The foul language he used!

The redness of his face!

The bulging eyeballs that seemed to pop out, not much unlike a cartoon character.

I have found my ammunition.

Of course, I was half honest, because the only other option for me to bring is morphine.

I hate pills.

Hate them.

But the Dominican Republic will not let us in if I have any traces of my medicinal cannabis in my system.

This means that I have to take morphine for the last month of us living here, and be off my natural pain killers for 2 months, in hopes that by the time they test my blood, I'll just look like your average pill poppin' femme.

And I'll be puffy.

Puffy, bitchy and tired.

But the whole point is, I am moving somewhere where the hopes are that I won't have to take those devil pills anymore.

Or at least, not very often.

The amount of prep for this is almost mind blowing.

Just to get ready for our short trip is enough to get the tummy squirreling around in there.

We bought two MASSIVE, and very ugly suitcases to bring some of our belongings that will be living there on this trip.

We're going to put them in storage there.

So, we have to go to our storage here.

To bring stuff to the storage there.

It's sorta ridiculous, and we hope to hell we can find a place to keep them there so that the next trip isn't as expensive with 5 animals.

Well, one of the animals is a little lighter.

Seems the stress has Psycho Kitty losing all his ass end fur.

It's really ugly.

This will not do for his television appearance.

And now, off to the vet we go to find out how to fix it, make him pretty and perhaps get a manicure for The Bastard Prince who lost one of his nails in the last Tom Cat Operetta which had him scrambling to a higher level.

Blood everywhere.

No, this is not sexy enough for their television appearance.

i accept abundance

psycho kitty.

Phew!  That feels a little better.

We got to talk about a little more of how each of us are feeling, plus got to have a less stressful day.

Much better.  Back on track.

I suppose it was just the finality of everything getting settled, meaning it's time to prepare for the next step, which is really quite scary.

The fear won't stop us from following our dream we've been preparing for for years, we just need to communicate more.

I've never had such great communication in my life that is outlined by the worst communication.  I don't know how to explain it, but it's odd.

We both take our turns at being the loon in the house.

Problem is, since the beginning of The Great DR Purge, the sale of the house, g'ma being put into the home, The Uncle helping us out, moving to Our Closet and preparing for our trial, we both took our turns at being the crazy one at the same time.

That's no good.

We usually swap, therefore, the one is able to calm the other down.

But when we're BOTH wacked?  No good.

Anyway, speaking of wacked, I've been trying to give the cats less and less Rescue Remedy in hopes that maybe they'll just be sane.

Wrong.  The Tom Cat Operetta is back in full swing.

I contacted a TV show, where they come in to see your psycho kitty and try to get them to be calm and stable.

It's appropriately called Psycho Kitty.

They loved the idea of filming our demented fuzzballs.  Who wouldn't?

A close loss of an eye, screaming cats and great wads of fur being torn from their bodies makes for good drama. 

Especially when they're trapped in Our Closet of 454 sq. ft.

She said of all the applicants who wrote in, we were the first they called, because it sounded 'so funny'.

I sent them pics of all of us, including me holding my gun to show how desperate I am for harmony in the home.

The good part about the show is the free cat behaviourist who comes to help you and your critters.

It's kinda like The Dog Whisperer, only it's for psycho kitties.

When the Rescue Remedy worked, it was great, but I think leaving them on so much medicine for so long is not good for their tiny fuzzy bodies.

Mind you, that's better than blood and guts flying everywhere.

This kitty filming adventure will be a month after we've actually bought a home in the Dominican Republic!!!

We were instructed to go on line and choose a few to see, so we gave her our top 10, then gave her another 25 that we were interested in.

She said, "Well, that's quite a few.  Perhaps you could choose only 3 for the first day."

I think we need a reality show to follow us around there too.

Mind you, we won't need the publicity, considering the cats are going to make us super duper famous!  Don't you think?

People will swarm us and ask for autographs saying, "Hey!  You're the people who have psycho kitties!!"

We'll be more famous than The Beibs!

The whole, entire world will know us for our psychotic cats, screaming femme armed with water bottles, and a tranny with the Rescue Remedy chasing them around to get the goods in their ears.

Ok.  Maybe that's just a bit silly.

I can't even imagine how many people would tune in to a show called Psycho Kitty.

Well, I know I would, but I'm crazy that way.

everything is going to be alright

Blood. Guts. Horror.

I need the fucking cat whisperer.

I should have learned a long time ago that getting between fighting animals is a bad idea.

The animals are usually fine.

It's only me that takes a beating.

I remember once, a frantic feline attacked my old loving dog 'Bear' who passed on into doggy heaven quite some time ago.

He was a cat lover, but that didn't matter to this mentally deranged mouser.

This flipped out cat ran across the street to give my dog the beat down just for being on his block.

He wound up hanging from all kitty paw fours, around the long hair fuzz that graciously hung from Bear's barrel chest.

My Dearly Departed Gypsy was barking and did her best to nip at the lunatic cat, however, she was a bit afraid of cats, so this didn't really make an impact on the situation.

I made a bad choice in deciding to try to help out, and in the mess of things, I dislocated my knee.

I hobbled and sobbed all the way home, while my dogs just went on sniffing flowers like nothing had happened.

Well.

We've now got this 'issue' with the cats.

Psycho Kitty and The Bastard Prince have NEVER gotten along.

One of them has to give in, and it is just not happening.

They're both Tomcats.

They're both used to being the head honcho in their space and block of land.

They're both trying to kill each other.

I tried a few suggestions given to me for socializing attempts.

1) Let them sniff each other under a closed door to let them figure out who's the boss.

2) Smear the 'happy gland' scent from the side of their mouths on to a rag, and place it near their watering bowl.

Apparently, they're supposed to figure it out this way.

Fuck no.

Psycho Kitty would just stalk them from each window, leaving a little shit gem when he'd had enough of the fun tormenting my cats.

Now?

We're all having to live in the same space and it's just not working.

Today, all I tried to do was sweetly coax Psycho Kitty into leaving The Bastard Prince's area to leave him be.

They were both singing the Tom Cat Operetta, making horrid noises that sounded like someone was squeezing them to death.

Can you guess what happened next?

Yup.

I got attacked.

My fingers have punctures in them that I thought would never stop bleeding.

Again, nobody got hurt but me.

Not sure when I'll learn, but it's just so hard for me to sit back and let them get scar after scar, blood lines along their noses, scabs on their ears that look like kitty zits, and fur from one end of the house to the other.

There are literally patches of fur missing on both of them.

I need the cat whisperer.

Papi said not to bother wasting my money, but when my next itty bitty payment comes from Long Term Disability, I'm doing it.

I am desperate and have no idea what to do next.

I'd like them both alive when we get to the Dominican Republic.

i am a true friend

Butch Tits.

Tranny.

I thought I'd say it again just to piss 'them' off.  If I'm going to be bitchy from insomnia, then the rest of you must suffer with me.

Besides, how could I live up to my shit disturber title, if I didn't poke the hornets nest on a daily basis?

One thing I thought about last night until the sun came up this morning, was why I got on those little pharmaceutical puff pills in the first place.  It was to stop the pain and help me sleep.

Well, tough titties.

I'm still going to search for a way to get through the night.

Oh, and speaking of titties, another thing I thought about last night, was how much I miss them.

I grieve them.

I miss just rolling over in bed and having a palm full of pillowy, plush puppies to paw.

I feel like there's something missing from my life now.

I realized, they're never coming back.

If I want to feel those soft familiar friends, I'll have to play with my own.

However, they're not as fun.

I suppose I could take up Papi's offer and play with other women's mammillas, but they still aren't the breasts I married.

It's those breasts I want.

As I listened to Papi snore away the night, I cursed him.  Not for permanently taking away my funbags, but for sleeping better than me and not doing his evening chore of putting Psycho Kitty upstairs.

I was exhausted enough, that I merely laid and listened to the Tom Cat Operetta till the wee hours of morning.

And no, that has nothing to do with boobs, but I thought I'd throw that in there because I'm mother fucking tired and bitchy.

Back to boobs.

Every Wednesday, I volunteer for Queer Arts Festival for 4 hours.

4 hours of sorting papers that have been thrown into boxes for years upon end of neglect gets a little monotonous, so I look around at the walls of the office.

Basically, I get do this in a gallery of photos taken by S.D Holman.

Butch Tits.

Everywhere.

Some I recognize, ...

... not from personal experience ...

... some that look like they'd be days of funbag fondling, others that are pert enough to cut glass.

But Butch Tits everywhere.

It saddens me.

I sit in my composing room and create music, while staring at the only pic I have of my love exposed in all his prior butch glory.

With Butch Tits.

This is one of the hard parts of this transformation.

I know there's a few, but most of it has calmed.  I suppose with any loss, there's a certain amount that will never really go away.

I guess I'm no different.

Butch Tits.

I miss them terribly.

i release all fear ...

Cat Scratch Fever.

Mr. Sickie is feeling a little better from the antibiotic poisoning.

I've been the one tended to for a few days, and the greatest part is having my love make me food.

I'm entertained with award winning monologues of, "Ohmygodthisisgross," and "How do you eat this shit?!"  Not to mention, the gagging sounds that mi esposo is prone to, when trying to hit it home about how my whole food diet disgusts him.

This is coming from someone who eats an entire bag of Mini Eggs for dinner.

We're talking Costco size, not just the corner store bags that are an appropriate amount of sugar for our systems to work with.

Yeah, they're pretty tasty, yet they embody the yum that I must skip out on, or we'd wind up with a visit from Hurricane Andréa, narcolepsy and a sinus infection from hell.

Anyway, point is, my dearest Papi is definitely feeling better.

The other day, we invited My Gratitude Buddy over, and my love cleaned the kitchen for the visit.

That's a good points winner, right there.
         
Something else tells me that Papi is feeling better.

There was a bit of a showdown between 2 members of the Fuzzy Family yesterday.

Actually, the introduction of the two Alpha maples has been going quite well.  There have been the ever so classy cat call of the wild between the The Bastard Prince and Psycho Kitty, but not too much in the way of physical attacks.

That was until yesterday afternoon.

Papi thought it would be a good idea to throw the cats together so they could work it out.

I'm not kidding.

There was a screeching of doom, roars of pain, and pet food dishes added a ring to the upper register of this Tom Cat Operetta.

Of course, this was complete with a foreboding of death like all good dramas.

This was the aftermath:

As well, during my few days of flu delirium, there was another sign of mi esposo feeling well.

My love felt the need to show me just how much ass hair is forcing it's way through his orb, in an effort to run to the light, and added, "Yup!  All that is goodness is going to spread over to my ass cheeks."

Good god.

The Tranny Terrorist has risen.

As much as Papi is working up his newest routine of ways to toment me, there has been no interest in sex for my love.

I suppose feeling like a gargantuan bag of pus for the past 2 months would be the reason, no?

That's no problem, however, this also includes cuddles.

Right now, I wanna cozy in with my love, but he just feels so horrible.  The only thing I get right now, is a vertical hug, or a bedtime snuggle with his right arm.

When I saw Papi flaunt his ass crack in pride, I got my hopes up that perhaps, just maybe, this is the last round of illness, and that this is all going to be over soon.

Dare to dream, eh?